


Paws for Effect

by PantsTerror



Series: Shameless Cat Pun Porn [1]
Category: Zero Escape: Zero Time Dilemma - Fandom
Genre: Cat Puns, F/M, Sexual Content, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-17
Updated: 2016-11-17
Packaged: 2018-08-31 14:38:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8582284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PantsTerror/pseuds/PantsTerror
Summary: “I cat help it, oh no—” His hands flew up to his mouth and clamped tight.
“What are you talking about? Are you okay?” 
Muffled through his fingers, he shouted, “... If you say it, I c-can’t control what comes out of my meowth—SON OF A...”





	

Diana could be a minx when she wanted. 

One of the savory moments Sigma captured in his mind’s eye was from Dcom, scarcely days after he met her, when she approached him in the gym. It was hardly a gym; only given that name out of convenience, or perhaps pity for the few machines and cramped space that was supposed to accommodate eight people. She appeared before him with a water bottle in her extended hand. (Was he supposed to take that while he was running on the treadmill when he could have sworn his psychological blinders were up? He wouldn’t look at a face that could reject an entire future.) And when he refused it, she caught the straw with her mouth in a demure way, still looking up at him.

He pretended, at the time, not to know better, not to think that she was trying to get his attention with a hint of lewdness, but when she upped the speed on the machine to tease him, it was obvious.

Yeah, admittedly, he _also_ felt like his heart would be crushed by the weight of a past she never knew and ran from the room with tears streaking down his face—but it was still kinda hot, looking back. Reminded him of their time on the moon.

But for the life of him, he couldn’t get her to send _one_ juicy text, or even speak her desire without putting it in the vaguest terms. Maybe it was the fact that after the awkwardness of “Zero” informing everyone in the shelter that the two of them had hooked up in another history, it was easier to just _assume_ the desire was there. It was harder to coax it out of her in so many words.

As taxing as it seemed for Diana, Sigma, on the other hand, snapped so easily back into the details of their previous relationship that he almost had to recite speeches about termite mounds in ice-cold showers.

Flashes of the history they’d spent in the shelter reminded him of just how agonizingly long he waited to reveal anything about the moon to her. It wouldn’t have been right. To try to describe the kind of relationship they’d had would be setting her up to feel like she didn’t have a choice. The most important thing was ensuring she’d have an out if she didn’t want him in her life, even if it would break his heart. That funny if-you-love-’em-let-’em-go feeling; he distanced himself to allow her to feel comfortable to approach him naturally, yet ended up isolating her when it was clear she more than needed his company for survival. Still, it was a nobler choice than assuming she’d want him the way she did once.

He’d have to make up for it in this timeline. This one, where they escaped and weaved their lives together over what seemed like eternity, but was only a few months. Even with the protection of Crash Keys, there was a lot of rearranging, reintroducing, explaining, and readiness to flee from any sign of threat. Well, when he framed it _that_ way, Diana’s reticence made sense; this history had fewer safe boundaries than the confines of a space laboratory.

Remembering what a little wordsmith Diana had been when Sigma didn’t have the use of his real arms was torturous. In the beginning—that is, when his much younger self had first “met” Diana after the surgery—he recalled her too-familiar touch, which built to her nursing duties nearly crossing legal lines. She would “accidentally” drop a pen and reach down without bending her knees, then give a soft, “Oops,” while passing him. That escalated to more deliberate attempts to catch his arousal off guard, all the while assuring him, “It’s a natural reaction” and excusing herself immediately afterward. Of course, she refused to do anything about it until much later, and the dirty talk she innovated while he was still refining the use of his hands helped him more than she knew.

Every time he thought about it, Sigma gritted his teeth. Her shy references to “sleeping with” him or their “quality time” were just as precious as they’d have otherwise been, but recalling, _knowing_ she could ignite him with bare phrases resounded through him in quiet moments. And he was so cautious not to insult her or repeat himself that he withheld anything remotely related to her previous allurements, to his own folly.

It wasn’t until a rare afternoon off in May that he brought it up, already halfway through unbuttoning her skirt.

“This is gonna sound… I dunno,” he said sheepishly, “weird.” He looked up at her sidelong while perched on the edge of the couch cushion. The blinds and curtains may have been shut and drawn, but Sigma felt scrutiny as though it were broadcast through every channel of the morphogenetic network.

“Hm? What is it?” Diana looked down at him patiently.

“I’ve always—I’ve thought about…” He placed his hands on her hips and rose to his feet, hunching slightly to diminish the height gap. “I mean, you don’t have to.” 

“If you don’t say what it is, I’m gonna guess,” she threatened, bumping his nose with hers lightly. 

Even that set his gears in motion.

“Would you,” he asked, leaning toward her ear, “talk dirty to me?”

He tried not to seem expectant at her somewhat wide-eyed response.

“I… could try! I might need help. Like, what… what do you wanna hear?”

The hands on her hips migrated up to her thin shirt, which Sigma wrinkled and slid up her torso. She lifted her arms and he obediently flipped it over her head and tossed it aside. It rested on the coffee table, conveniently obscuring the pile of looming dissertation notes. No use for any of that language, now.

“Possibly start with describing how something feels,” he suggested, brushing his palms over the cups of her bra.

“... well that doesn’t really count, I can’t feel that as much—”

“Or describe something you want me to do.”

She glanced meekly from his hands to his face. “Oh…”

Gleaning from the abashed way she’d said it, Sigma knew he’d be climbing uphill. So he hooked his thumbs under the straps, then quickly took them away. He waited for her order, but she adjusted her stare to the side. The winding path it’d be.

“M-maybe… do that again?” she finally said.

He obliged, tracing her skin even lighter. 

“Oh,” she sighed. “Oh, um… t… take it off?”

Sigma smiled and kissed her, then pushed the instruction further. “Take _what_ off…?”

“My bra,” she clarified in monotone with the least-sexy cadence Sigma had ever heard.

Never mind it; the freckles on her exposed décolletage drew his attention, and he moved his mouth over them fleetingly. And he complied, as simply as he could, unclasping and undraping her bra without the bells and whistles of touching her.

Sans the routine, Diana leaned up on her toes and looked at him eagerly. He wrestled with that expression. He could so easily dive in and ravish her with touch but he really wanted to try this time. Unless, that was—“If you don’t want to, you don’t…”

“P-put your mouth on me.”

His face drew like a magnet to her breast, grazing with his nose. He allowed himself to lick and suck on a nipple, then mouthed the skin between it and the other one. He bit gently and she breathed hard, but he resisted bringing his hands up to help. 

Instead, unbidden, he took a moment to remove his own shirt, hoping it’d make her feel less alone in her exposure. And she was a vision in her dishevelment, the orange of her hair a complement to the light pink of her raised nipples. What a gracious woman, Diana, with her compact but shapely frame not making him choose to be a “boobs” or “butt” kind of man—though he gladly attuned his focus on the former at her request.

He felt her hands on his face.

“Sigma, I think I… know what I want.”

He stood at full height and put his hands on her petite waist.

“Take your time,” he assured. He wondered where she’d direct her desire, or whether she’d be able to speak it beyond the usual assenting noises. He wanted nothing more than to grab and devour all the soft parts of her, and it was growing more difficult to prove he’d be able to wait for her to speak. Then she began to let her actions guide her words.

“Oh my,” she feigned, leaning into him and reaching her hand down. “You sure are, uh, hard.”

Rough, but she was trying. He had to imagine how she’d started becoming comfortable with it in the timeline before the April jump some 46 years ago—damn his other self for priming her so well in so brief a time.

“And? Go on?”

He pushed back against her palm, being sure she ran across the full length of him and up to the tip, already poking up at his stomach and weeping. She tucked her chin close to her chest as she glanced down, then glanced back up at him.

“And I… wanna get you out of those pants,” she said.

Without waiting, she put her hands to work of unzipping and careful yanking.

“And,” she added in her battle with the loops of the pant legs, “get me out of this skirt.”

He bent to continue where he’d left off with the buttons. 

“With your teeth…?” Diana suddenly suggested. 

He looked at the buttons, then up at her; back at the insurmountable flat buttons and their questionably-navigable slots. No way would he manage it before sundown at that pace. 

“Maybe after this part, yeah?”

When she nodded, he ripped through the unbuttoning and tried his best to drag the whole of the skirt off her without the use of his hands.

“I—want you to… y’know… with… your mouth,” she hinted, pitying his struggle. “You can—you can put me on the couch.”

Whisking her easily off her feet, Sigma lifted her and laid her on her back, no extra ado. He kept his hands chaste but signaled to her plain green panties.

“And what about those?” he asked gruffly.

“Mm… uh… off,” she said, “Please? I know I’m bad at this.”

“You’re not, just… say what they are,” he encouraged. He crawled his hands up the outside of her legs.

“Ah, take off my… panties?” She watched for his reassurance.

_You’re gonna take off my panties and hold them in your teeth while I straddle you_.

His brain struggled to let her voice echo from another time while he watched the blushing, uncertain Diana in front of him. He could barely imagine that straddle squeezing over him before the memory fled, but he already seethed with arousal.

Giving a quick nod, he reached and pulled them over the curves of her hips. Damp already, betraying her demure mannerisms; he’d have to wait on putting them in his mouth until she was ready to own her command, but for now he’d open the gift of her sex. Only if she asked, however; he reminded himself of the virtue of self-control, though that was easier done in isolation on the surface of another rock.

The panties were dropped to the near floor while Sigma drank the sight of her, her legs only slightly agape, her breasts thinned from gravity. She seemed dumbstruck.

Pressing her thighs with his fingertips, he managed to part them enough to make space for his head. He could smell her strongly, see on her lips a hint of sheen—she had turned her head already knowing he was examining her so closely.

“Ngh, I…” she muttered. “Want you to…”

He nudged her legs further open and stroked the skin under her thighs with thoughtful hands.

“You what? Can’t hear you.”

“Please… c’mon, you know—!” Her legs began to shake and her foot kicked to hook over his shoulder.

Sigma squished his nose and mouth into the flesh of her inner thigh no farther than her knee, smiling against it. “You gotta say it yourself… please?”

Diana’s face reddened deeper and she clamped her eyes shut in resignation.

Then, it happened.

“I–I want you to eat my pussy!”

“Fuck.” Sigma reeled back. “FUCK.”

Diana’s legs snapped shut at the knee and she sat up in alarm. “Wh-what did I say?! I thought you wanted me to—” 

“I cat help it, oh no—” His hands flew up to his mouth and clamped tight.

Of all the precursors to forget, this? How could he ask her to put explicit thoughts into words if he knew his response would be comically insensitive? This was the true curse. At least if the tic remained constant, it wouldn’t seem so flippant. Could he find a way to circumlocute when his body demanded resolution—would she let him live it down?

“What are you talking about? Are you okay?”

Muffled through his fingers, he shouted, “Diana the p-word is off limits! If you say it, I c-can’t control what comes out of my meowth—SON OF A...”

He was cut off by the trill of her laughter. “Ahaha! Oh no! Oh, I’m,” she took a loud inhale, “so sorry! I didn’t mean to laugh!”

Bless her eyebrows, strung up in empathy.

Sigma clenched his fingers into his own legs, erection still pounding. “I f-f-...FURgot to tell you about it in this history, when I…”

Diana relaxed her legs and sat up, reassuring him with intent focus.

He continued woefully. “When I think ameowt cats, I start to talk like one.”

“Mm?” Diana nodded, her eyes brightening.

“You don’t have to believe me, but… I was cursed by a black cat when I was a kid,” he sighed. He left out the part about losing the ability to talk to cats solely because he told some girl he liked in elementary school. As if any girl at that age would be worth the impression, he scoffed.

If the cat bastardizations themselves hadn’t killed the mood, he knew the full story would.

“So… does it stop when you stop thinking about cats?” She spoke assuredly enough that Sigma wondered whether the memories couldn’t have transferred like mind-reading, although that was beyond the limitations of esper ability. 

“Yeah.”

“So,” she goaded, rising up on her knees. “I shouldn’t say I… a- _paw_ -logize?”

For a moment, he stared. She hissed on the verge of giggling through her wide, proud smile.

There she was: playful and radiant, testing his limits with careful emphasis.

“Oh, now you’re just doing it on purrpose,” Sigma said.

With a coquettish push of her hands, Diana knocked him onto his back, which he gladly exaggerated.

“I’m going to have to find a way to make you shut up,” she concluded.

Her shy inching toward him across the naked planes of their bodies seemed superfluous and he had to restrain himself from grabbing her haunches. She took her time crawling spread-legged up to his shoulders, careful not to graze the head of his cock.

Sweet Jesus, having her knees beside his ears as she hovered over him was worth every poorly-timed pun he’d ever made. On the rare occasion she’d invite him—said it made her self-conscious, obvious reasons why—she’d always be on her back, legs just too far apart to touch the sides of his head. Now he looked up at her, surely meeting her gaze with a flush, trying not to think about how she’d said the p word or how invitingly swollen hers looked or the crest of her ass peeking just behind it or how it was his _dream_ to be sandwiched by a woman’s bare thighs, or…

Before he had time to plead, she grasped the arm of the couch and lowered; not to be trapped by the leg she moved to stabilize herself, Sigma reached his hand up to her backside. Breathing in her sweet scent, he opened his mouth in anticipation. 

She stopped just short of his nose but moved back up; he groaned but opened his eyes to see her barely holding in another laugh.

“Hey—Sigma,” she tried, a hand unwittingly flying up to cover her face. “C-can you… _tail_ … h-how wet I am?”

His face bursting into a grateful smile, Sigma wasted no time craning his neck up and pulling her into him. And she wasn’t _lion_ —he saved the grimace for later—keeping his teeth masked, he opened his tongue between her lips, easily sliding to find her clit. She shook with a laugh; he licked down to feel the contractions at her opening, which made her laugh more.

Any other situation and he’d have felt embarrassed by her chuckling, but somehow having her vulva caught by his mouth made it feel even, somewhat.

By now, her hands were back on the arm of the chair and she was giving into his motions with nearly the full weight of her body. In a self-conscious moment, she widened her legs to let him take a breath, but he snapped his hands to her thighs and pushed them closer. She yelped didn’t give instruction to change what he was doing—was she reaching the limitations of the experiment or just distracted?

He breathed her in, drowned in her, scooped his tongue with insistent pressure, grasped his fingers under her buttocks as if it could bring her closer. Break his neck if she dared, he’d let her. But her hand was on him now, bracing her on his abdomen while she balanced and then wrapped around him, which made him buck and moan into her. 

“Ah—wait,” Diana mumbled. She lifted herself from his grasp and scrambled down with legs curling around his sides. Again, she hovered far above him, spread thighs shaking but keeping her aloft. 

“Ngh, please,” Sigma all but begged. 

“Don’t you mean… paw-lease?” she asked, tracing her fingers on his skin.

He frowned slightly. “Well, no, I mean, it’s not… I don’t usually say that one—” 

When he noticed her eyes so intensely locking with his and the lip-biting grin she offered, he realized he’d done it. Now he was the one feeling flustered to reply, straining not to dig his heels into the cushions and push inside her immediately.

“Aw, that’s a shame,” she mused, “I really tried with that one.”

“Please, Diana—”

She tilted her head and—did she just arch her back to perk up her breasts? “I think it’s cute, I was hoping you’d say one more…”

“... Diana,” he repeated, louder.

She dipped her hips lower, voice breathier.

“... because if you did, maybe I’d let you inside my _pussy_ —”

“—DIA _NYA_!”

He winced. The heat glared from his cheeks, paining him all the way to the strong ache of his erection. He wasn’t even sure what in his brain would have made the connection, but if the wires crossed enough—

She snorted through her nose and flattened his cock carefully against his abdomen, the wetness of her opening to him. He’d barely opened his eyes and she was working herself around him, hands free and pressing onto his chest.

“Ah,” he sighed acutely. “You don’t mind?”

She inched more. “Nn, I don’t,” she said. “Maybe I kinda… like it? Oh…”

He pushed up the last bit into her a bit more quickly than he meant to, having lifted up on one elbow for the illusion of closeness to her. She took his unengaged hand and placed it on her breast. Then her hips were moving in shallow thrusts, rather grinding on his pelvis.

Around his cock, he felt preliminary pulls of her muscles. He drew a gasp from her with a twist of his knuckle around her nipple. But she didn’t relent. The slickness of her taunted him too weakly.

One hand she moved from his chest to her own pubis, which both pressed into him and gave her the benefit of direct manipulation; he could feel the sweat building there. It did somewhat shock him that after she’d been so shy in this history, she’d taken the reigns with hunger. He allowed his mind to drift back to a time she’d indulged him, letting him watch her touch herself, unable to know what she could possibly be thinking of. But here she was clearly led by his fluster, his bizarre tic, and he couldn’t help imagining something that made him unique was what emboldened her.

He thought of asking—opened his mouth, even—but as soon as he did, Diana caught his eyes and brought the very hand from her clit to his mouth, as though to shut him up. So he played along, sucking the ends of her fingers and tasting her again. The smell alone drove him to rock back, then further into her; he replaced her hand with his own, aiming to squeeze a few fingers to where they’d hit her most vitally.

Staring fiercely, she rode him with sharper movements. The flush grew in her cheeks. 

He knew not to change what he was doing, obviously, but he turned his head to eject her fingers from his mouth; at the very least, better to see her from that angle. But she leaned back momentarily.

“Sigma… Come here,” she beckoned; he sat up the best he could against her still-moving hips, hesitantly reaching to kiss her and fearing he’d throw her off rhythm. It was barely a peck, for she turned her head.

Rather than acknowledge her gesture of wanting attention on her neck, Sigma was tempted to further rile her. Intentionally, this time. The shot was wide open.

“Do you… want me to _whisker_ in your ear—?”

All at once she was heaving with laughter, diaphragm pushing all her muscles down and hard around him, arms flailing to hold onto him.

“Ahah—oh God—!” she squealed.

If her jerking hips didn’t give it away, Sigma felt her coming even around his fingers. Each pull was incredulous, almost continuous on his cock; if she hadn’t been fully weighted atop him, he knew she’d have pushed him out with the sheer force of her laughter. Not enough to send him over the edge, as it made her painfully tight.

When it slowed, she looked at him with a mix of surprise and horror.

“Um—!” 

“Did you just…?” Sigma asked with the shit-eatingest smirk creeping onto his face.

There was no hiding, of course. She tried to dig her face into his shoulder, which wasn’t an easy reach.

“—it was a coincidence?” she mumbled.

He pressed a kiss into her hair. “You’re cute.” 

“Oh, come on! You’re still hard, don’t make fun of me.”

She sent a reminder by tightening her muscles around him, and Sigma hissed.

“I wasn’t! I mean it, you are,” he pleaded. “You’re incredible…”

She looked up at him sweetly, cheeks a bright pink.

“I should have saved shutting you up,” she said. She tugged her arms around him and tried to pull him down with her. With a little help, she kept him inside her while settling on her back. 

He didn’t wait for her to offer again, started a gentle thrust back into her; he could reach deeper than before, curving into the farthest wall of her. Her legs were upturned in her hips’ invitation and she pushed back, bracing herself in the cushions and moaning in gasps as he picked up speed.

Beyond words, Sigma huffed and plunged over and again into her, eyes on her small, parted grin. Faster than he could have floored the pedal of a car, he felt himself plummeting toward the point of no return, the near-sick feeling of trying to hold back but trusting the soft comfort of her body. It shuddered through and burst into the recesses of her.

Sweaty and sore, Sigma fell forward to his hands. Diana gently pushed him out and entwined her legs with his. He settled with half his weight shoved in the couch’s back, not to crush her as he let her cuddle up under him.

“Hm, you were right,” she said at length. “It _was_ a little weird.”

“I should have said something sooner.”

“No excuses,” she chided. “I liked it. I didn’t know I could say those things.”

He hid the forming grin; she didn’t have to know that _he_ knew what she was capable of, or just how enthusiastic he’d be to help her discover what he already knew. Oh, but that cat thing was novel in any timeline— _dammit_ —

“Yeah, I litterally didn’t know you had it in you,” Sigma said, hoping she wouldn’t be able to hear the change in his tone at the reference. 

Ah, who was he to fool.

“Oh great,” Diana said flatly, “I’m never gonna be able to look a cat in the eye again.”

**Author's Note:**

> I realized this is a similar Sex Formula™ to RED, but Sigma will get his in another timeline, I promise. This is also the most terribly self-indulgent piece I've ever written, and I'm not sorry.


End file.
